The Life And Times Of Adam Levine
by godkatesusall
Summary: Adam Levine is constantly surrounded by people- his model girlfriends, his friend Blake Shelton, his roommate Gene- but that doesn't change the crippling loneliness he feels everyday. Watch as he navigates the stormy waters of his own complicated life. He's learning to be a good person one day at a time.
1. Chapter 1: Adam & Behati

Adam Levine sat on the floor of his kitchen. It was 5 AM. His roommate, Gene, called Jesse to come deal with him but Jesse was busy. What the fuck did Jesse have to do? Adam WAS Maroon 5. He was pretty sure nobody knew Maroon 5 had any other members not to MENTION fucking Jesse Carmichael. Adam leaned back against the kitchen island and played with a frayed corner of his wifebeater. The minute Blake brought that vanilla flavored tequila Adam should have known something like this would happen. Vanilla flavored tequila should be fucking illegal. When Adam drank tequila he got aggressive, which Behati had reminded him of just moments before. You would think that after he became a millionaire he would have better luck with women. He had told himself over 10 years ago that once he was a rock star he would find a nice supermodel to do coke with and she wouldn't ask him any questions. Things never turn out the way you think they will, do they? Behati spent most of her time in Paris and when she was around she'd act like his fucking girlfriend until the end of the night when he made his move she would say "We can never ever be together" like some goddamned Taylor Swift song. He had grabbed her arm to try to talk to her but he was too drunk to find the right words. It always came so easy when he was writing OvereXposed but real life isn't like "Payphone feat. Wiz Khalifa" is it? That's when she called him aggressive and pathetic. She told him "Just get over it, Adam. We're in different places in our lives" like he wasn't a judge on NBC's The Voice.

So Adam sat on the floor of his kitchen quietly crying and clutching the tequila bottle. The entire night he had been secretly blowing lines of Ridalin in the bathroom so he wasn't going to sleep anytime soon. Behati had left him there. He vaguely wondered if she would come back if she saw him lying on the floor with his cheek on the cool tile through his giant bay windows. She didn't. She had this way of making him feel like he was a loser instead of the Grammy Award Winning Artist that he was. He hated her for that. He was Adam fucking Levine and some mean supermodel was making him feel like he was nothing. She was so dumb. Profoundly dumb. Why did he love her? It was a question Blake asked him time and time again. Fucking Blake. He honestly didn't know. He wanted to quit her. He just couldn't. All he knew at this moment leaning against his Viking Stove was this: he wanted to ruin her life like she ruined his. He stood up, a little uneasy, and walked through the kitchen into the garage. He stumbled into the front seat of his car. She thought he was aggressive? Just wait until he drove his vintage Porche through her goddamn front door. He would show her aggressive.

He smiled. Things would be better after this. He turned on the ignition.


	2. Chapter 2: Adam & Amanda

Adam Levine sat with his hand on Amanda Setton's leg but he didn't know why. He was too drunk to make out what her friends were saying but he could tell it was boring. It occurred to him that after the club he was expected to take Amanda home and make love to her. He took another sip of his scotch and soda. When Adam had sex with women he got this funny out-of-body experience where he heard dozens of voices talking at once so he could never make out what they were saying. He liked women. He imagined settling down with a woman one day. They'd tape their favorite television episodes and watch reruns of NCIS on the weekends. They would take long walks. She would fuck around on the internet while he wrote poetry. They wouldn't have to talk to each other because they knew what the other was thinking without asking. He and this beautiful, perfect woman would be in love. He wasn't gay. He knew that. Adam loved women. He loved breasts and asses. Especially asses. What Adam didn't understand was why he had to have sex with women. Intercourse felt, well, _icky_. He had never gotten what the big deal was. He had never understood why it was the only way to show someone you loved them. He'd had sex with a LOT of women but he never felt very comfortable with the whole fluid-filled experience. He preferred jerking off by himself in a hot shower. It was private and it was _his_. Just his.

Amanda said something but he wasn't listening. He would give anything in the world to never have to mention his fucking fragrance line ever again. Why wasn't it okay to enjoy making millions of dollars for creating bullshit products nobody wanted? Wasn't the American dream accumulating as many mansions as possible? Adam got up. Amanda asked him if he felt okay. He told her he had to take a shit. She laughed and glanced at her friends nervously. He walked towards the bathroom but changed his mind and exited out the fire door. The alarm went off. He kept walking. He walked right onto Sunset and booked himself a hotel room because why not? He'd order a bottle of scotch and some premo blow. He'd sit on the balcony with his feet on the railing, chain-smoke and watch the sun rise. That sounded a lot better than having sex with fucking Amanda.


	3. Chapter 3: Alone And Hurting

Adam Levine sat in the greenroom of The Voice hours after the last interns had gone home. He changed white t-shirts until he felt comfortable. Sometimes, late at night he would stumble out of bed. Leaving Amanda or Anne or Behati or whoever and step into his large, granite shower. He'd turn the heat up until it hurt to stand there and stare down at his dick. He'd pull it this way and that. Would it look any different if he was sick? Adam's therapist told him that he didn't really have an STD, that it was just society telling him he _should_ have one because Adam slept with a lot of models. What Adam didn't tell his therapist, though, was just how many models he slept with. He slept with more than a lot of models. He had lost count of the women (and sometimes men) he slept with years ago.

From the beginning of The Voice alone it had to be over 5,000. The entire concept of The Voice gave Adam the opportunity to gather several desperate, fame-hungry women together and "coach" them. Oh, Adam "coached" them alright. He "coached" on how to suck his dick. Don't worry, Adam already hated himself.

He stayed up and read the Reddit subthread where people posted pictures of ingrown hairs and asked if it was herpes. Adam had a skin-tag on one of his balls. Was it actually herpes? The skin-tag didn't hurt or swell but some women mentioned it's existence. Once they did he threw them out of his mansion at 5 AM without cab money or their cell phones. Adam hated that his own body was a mystery to him. He could be walking around with HIV all day and not even know it. The feeling that he might have an incurable disease would make Adam curl into a ball and cry on the white tile surrounding his indoor hot tub. Afterwards, he would watch Oscar acceptance speeches to make himself feel better. Three 6 Mafia's cheered him up. If things got really awful— he'd watch reruns of the first season of The Voice. Rebecca Loebe did this great thing with her tongue. Adam was a huge fan.

Sometimes he felt a tight, balled-up fist where his heart should be. He has come to recognize that feeling was crippling loneliness. What did it matter if America loved him if he didn't love himself? These are the things he thought lying in the green room of The Voice late at night. He took four sleeping pills and rolled over. Whatever.


	4. Chapter 4: Adam On Vacation

Adam Levine was lying down on a California King in Cabo San Lucas. He was sipping Patron out of the bottle and watching reruns of The Voice. Caroline Glaser was singing and Adam didn't turn his chair around.

"You fucking idiot," he said aloud, "Look at those blowjob lips!" Adam knocked over a plate of egg rolls as he swung out of bed. He was surrounded by half-eaten plates of room service. He thought he couldn't decide on what to eat but after some under-cooked Chicken Quesadillas he decided that it wasn't his indecision that made him re-order plates and plates of food, it was just that this food fucking sucked. He had called the fifteen year-old concierge and told her that multiple times. He had screamed and screamed at her until she wept but that was hours ago and it was just a vague memory now.

Adam stepped out onto the balcony of his bungalow and watched the many lights of boats dotting the horizon. They must be fishing boats making their morning runs. He remembered what Blake and Shakira had said when he told them he was going to Cabo this weekend. Blake scoffed and asked "Why are you always going out of town, Adam?" Adam wanted to tell Blake to go fuck himself. He went out of town because he was rich and famous and he could do whatever he wanted. He never said that though. He just laughed and said it was for his fragrance or he was taking a special lady out. Adam had no special lady and he could give a shit about his goddamn fragrance Women wanted to fuck him but he wasn't interested anymore. He remembered Jane and the way they'd smoke weed in his shitty apartment in Echo Park and watch episodes of Gilmore Girls. She'd laugh until she cried and he would put his arm around her and kiss her hair. He loved the way her shoulders shook when she laughed. He couldn't think about that now though. Jane was gone and Adam was famous. Now his weekends consisted of doing cocaine in club bathrooms with vacant looking supermodels. It had its perks but he missed feeling warm inside.

Adam didn't want to tell Blake that he went on vacation all the time because he was so profoundly lonely. Adam felt like he didn't particularly like anyone in LA. He liked strangers. He liked shooting the shit with young people who worked for NGOs in dour hotel bars. He hated that Blake teased him though. It made Adam feel like he didn't have a home. Adam sometimes worried he liked traveling so much because he couldn't commit to one person, one home, one job. Adam supposed he technically had two homes. One in Beverly Hills and one in Hollywood Hills. Why did he have two homes in the same fucking city? He wanted to find somewhere real: a place where he felt comfortable, but Adam was afraid that place didn't exist. Adam hit a bowl of weed laced with the tiniest hint of PCP. He had to remind himself that it was the drugs that made him rethink his life and thats not what he really thought when was sober. He stared at the boats receding in the gloomy pre-dawn mist. He hoped that was true at least.


End file.
